Didymous: adjective: growing in pairs or twins
Lady Shiva looked at the infants. The girl's dark eyes looked up at her pleadingly. Shiva stared on, unmoved. The boy had somehow managed to get blue eyes, and they were wary as they looked at her. She approved, in a detached way. The girl was too trusting.
Shiva had once trusted as well. Back when she bore another name, before a man named David Cain had invaded her life, killed her sister, and then demanded the strangest price for her life.
David would be here soon. She hesitated, just for a fraction of a moment. An old weakness whispered within her, a frail fragment of emotion that she had not successfully beaten out of herself. He was only expecting one child…
She brushed aside the feeling. It was useless and pathetic. She could afford no weakness. David Cain had beaten her. This was the price. She would not allow this to happen again. She would never be beaten. She was Lady Shiva now, stripped of all other names and past. She knew her destiny.
She turned and left her—no, not hers, never hers, not really—the twins behind.
Cassandra and Jason—those were their names, although she had not named them, but they were their names nevertheless, in any and every world they were born in—began to cry as the woman who gave birth to them—never their mother, there would be no woman who would ever truly claim that title in this world—left them behind in the cold and the dark, with only each other for company.
Jason, small as he was, wriggled his tiny fist out of his faded green blanket and held it out to his sister. Cass grabbed it, rolling herself closer to her twin.
They cried together, as if they could sense that with Shiva left their only chance of a childhood.
David Cain couldn't believe it. Twins. A boy and a girl. He smiled. A perfect team.
Their wails were unbroken, echoing off the walls of the cave. They'd noticed his approach, but had apparently kept crying in hopes that he would take notice of them.
He sighed and picked them up, the boy in his left hand and the girl in his right. Shiva had left them in the cave with only thin blankets covering them and a fire, now down to flickering coals. The children were freezing, leaning into his warmth. The wailing quieted, breaking off into small hiccups and gurgles.
Jason—as he decided to name the boy—had piercing blue eyes, his skin and hair alone betraying his heritage. He looked at David with suspicion, his barely visible eyebrows furrowing somehow. He let out another small cry. David frowned. They would have to be trained out of the bad habits such as crying that all infants had. Weakness would not be tolerated. It could not be in the search for perfection.
He examined Cassandra—the girl—next. She was smaller than her brother, although it was not as pronounced at the time as it would be when they were older, but shared the black hair. Her Asian heritage was more pronounced in her features. The contrast would be an advantage, David thought. Make them easier to blend in. It would be nearly impossible to tell, unless one was looking for it, to tell that they were twins.
If he trained them right, they would be halves of a whole. He smiled broadly. He could already picture it in his mind.
Cass would be small and lithe, quick on her feet. She could blend into the shadow and move lightly. She would be fluid in her motion, impossible to land a hit on. A single blow from her would be death.
Jason would be tall and broad, a wall of muscle. He would take blows like they were nothing, perhaps even bullets. He would be strong and fast and power would be behind each blow. He would be precise and deadly.
Together, they would be a well-oiled machine, partners. Able to communicate without words, able to kill without bullets. They would need no weapons, no blades. They would be more effective than any sword for killing.
He held his children close to him and headed out of the cave to start the lessons.
Lesson One: No noises. None at all.
Cass and Jason stood in the courtyard, stances firm. They each stood legs apart, arms raised in preparation for a strike. There was no opening. They eyed each other, looking for weakness.
They were both bored. They'd been standing like this for ages. Father watched them like a hawk, waiting for one to slip up.
Jason moved his ear slightly. Up. Then down. Then up. Then down.
Cass responded by raising an eyebrow. He was being silly. Trying to distract her. It wouldn't work.
He wiggled both ears in unison. Cass couldn't help herself. She smiled.
Jason pounced. Cass blocked. Jason kicked. Cass punched.
They fell into their familiar routine, each searching for a mistake, a flaw in the other's style.
Cass found the opening. Jason's block was just a centimeter too far to the right. Cass lunged, exploiting his mistake. Kick, twist, leap, punch, block, nerve pinch, hand to the throat.
She'd won. Jason pouted. Father smiled.
Cass let her hand fall and pulled Jason into a hug. He hugged her back, tapping her arm to show her there were no hard feelings.
The twins smiled at each other. Father clapped his hands, and they turned their attention to him, moving apart. Cass slipped her hand into Jason's as Father began to lay out the next training exercise to the two five year olds.
Jason curled protectively around Cass. Cass lay motionless in sleep, safe in the arms of her big brother. (Although neither of them were sure who was older, but then again, they didn't care.) Jason couldn't sleep. The bullet wounds in his leg ached too much. He was too slow to dodge them properly. Cass was faster, she hadn't been hit once.
Surprisingly, Father had not been angry. He understood that Cass was faster, just like he understood Jason was stronger. He was happy that Jason hadn't cried out. He watched as Cass dressed the three holes in his leg, with Father watching. Jason did not let out a single whimper of pain, and Cass had sewn him up correctly. Father was pleased. The food was good that day.
Jason—a name he only knew he had because he avidly eavesdropped for months on end—slipped to his feet, pulling away from his sister. She stirred slightly. He paused guiltily, but kept moving. Silent as the moonlight that crept through the barred window, he moved into the camera's blind spot. He closed his eyes.
"My… name… is Jason," he whispered. He didn't stutter this time, and he felt proud at that. It felt odd, to speak, but Jason longed for words. He longed to understand the conversations of the guards. He longed to know what Father hid from them, what was kept from them. He wanted understanding, he wanted to know.
Jason understood that the bars and walls and guards were not all that kept him and Cassandra trapped. Their lack of knowledge also bound them to their father. They could not live without him.
Cass saw no problem with that. She loved Father, and for her, love came with trust. She trusted that Father would do what was right, would work to keep the family whole.
Jason doubted it. He loved Father too, but he had doubts. Father might not come back one day, like the guards. What then?
Jason did not at the time understand or know the phrase "knowledge is power". If he had, however, he would certainly have agreed with it completely.
Cass, who was now awake, looked at him. Worry radiated from her. She looked into Jason's eyes. She was troubled when he spoke. If Father caught him, it would be very very bad, they both knew it.
Jason thought it worth the risk. Cass did not.
Jason's shoulders slumped. He moved back to Cass. This time, however, he did not throw his arm over her. Instead, he rolled over, his back against hers.
Her fingers pressed against his back, a silent apology. He relaxed slightly in forgiveness. Their simple language of body motion was rudimentary, but they were very good at it, better than Father or any of their tutors.
The room they spent their nights in was a cube, seven by seven by seven. The only door was barred from the outside, with a small, rarely used panel in the bottom through which food could be served during punishment periods—although only light punishments. True punishments were when they were separated for long periods of time, not confinement to their cell. There was a small hole in the blind spot corner that passed as a bathroom. It was all lit by a single light bulb, the metal cage protecting it throwing shadows everywhere.
There was a single, as mentioned before, barred window. It looked out at a bare landscape, but on good nights there were stars and even the moon visible. Cass loved looking at the stars, and copied them onto the wall with charcoal she filched from the kitchens. Cass loved her charcoal drawings. They covered nearly ever surface of the room, depicting their whole life. There were the guards. There was Jason and Cass, fighting side by side and laughing. There was Father, smiling a rare true smile.
Cass had her drawings. Jason had his obsession with words.
Somewhere in their minds, they both knew that this was not life. Their cell, their world, was not alive. Some part of them knew that seven year olds should not have bullets in their legs, or scars mapping their bodies. They shouldn't know pain well enough to greet it like an old friend and then to brush it off as if it was nothing.
Jason's vocabulary should not comprise of a few dozen words and Cass's shouldn't be nonexistent.
But that was a very small part of them.
They went to sleep.
Jason gripped Cass's hand tightly. Father frowned, but said nothing. He disapproved, but not enough to make them stop.
The bullet-proof vests were tight, suffocating. Jason stared at the gun-wielding guards. He hated this exercise.
Father said one word. Jason seized on it, memorizing it to speak later in the darkness and stillness of their cell.
Fire.
The bullets went off, slamming into Jason and Cass with all the might of fully automated weapons. Agony shot through Jason and Cass, but neither showed it. Ribs cracked and bruises bloomed, purples and yellows and greens. Neither of them so much as flinched.
Cass squeezed his hand, the only sign that she felt the pain too.
Father was pleased. He didn't even shoot Jason and Cass in the leg to see if they could handle real bullets.
He removed the Kevlar and then hugged them both. Jason smiled. Father was happy. Cass was happy. And despite his aching ribs, he found himself feeling happy too.
A week later, after their wounds had healed and faded, Father led them to the edge of the compound, where a truck was waiting for them. He escorted eight year old Jason and Cass into it. The twins were curious. They had never left the compound.
He gave them new clothes to wear, pretty ones that felt soft. Cass had a poufy dress and pretty hair ribbons. Jason was given a tiny suit, complete with waistcoat and bowtie. He tugged at it, frowning. Father placed a hand on his shoulder, warning him against playing with it. Jason's hands fell to his side.
Cass smiled at him, although her eyes were as confused as him. They did not understand what was going to happen. What they were about to do.
Father wore his normal uniform—a high necked black Kevlar and his guns. He draped a trench coat over the ensemble, hiding his weapons.
The van came to a stop. The building they parked outside was an elegant mansion, all marble and pillars. Jason and Cass gaped. They had never seen anything even remotely resembling this before.
Laughing, Father took their hands and led them into the building. The guards let them past. Jason and Cass looked around, mouths agape. Father did not correct them, so they did so freely, staring at paintings (so much more colorful than Cass's), rich wall hangings, plush carpets, crystal chandeliers… the list went on. The two had never seen anything like this in their life, and they felt overwhelmed by it all.
Jason wished Father was not between them so he could be holding Cass's hand. He did not trust this; for all that he was filled with awe by the richness of the building.
Father steered his two staring children into a room, just as richly furnished as the rest. The walls were paneled with expensive dark wood. Two men, one fat, one lean, one sitting, one standing, one weak, one strong, were behind a desk made of the same wood, with a marble top.
The fat, weak, sitting man smiled at Father. "David!" Jason nearly started—the man was speaking in front of them. "These must be your delightful children!" He got to his feet and moved forward. Jason's eyes scanned the man. He moved like he was used to only doing so for short amounts of time. He wobbled as he walked towards them. His skin was pasty, his eyes glassy. His body language, everything about him said greedy and hungry. The thin, strong, standing man followed. He was cautious, a predator—no, Jason corrected himself, a guard—suspicious of Father and his staring children.
Father angled his head just so. Jason perked up. Father wanted them to fight. Cass did so too.
The fat man knelt in front of Cass. "And this must be your darling daughter," he said. Jason saw hunger and greed increase as the man looked at Cass. Rage curled inside Jason's stomach. (A guard had looked at Cass like that once. Jason had broken one of the man's legs. Cass the other. Father had broken his arms.) Father moved his hand slightly, telling Jason to attack the guard, leave the greedy man to Cass.
In unison, the twins leaped forward. One punch—send them staggering backwards. One kick—the target fell to the ground, winded and unable to cry out. Father made a gesture, and as one, they struck targets in the throat.
What happened next was a nightmare.
Jason jerked back from the thin-strong man as the man began to convulse slightly. Agony filled the man's language, so much that it made Jason sick to his stomach. A glance at the fat man revealed he was doing the same. What was happening? Jason wanted to scream. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to close his eyes. He couldn't do any of those. All he could do was watch.
The man stopped moving. Agony faded. There was… there was nothing left. All life, all spark, everything was gone.
Jason stared at his hand, which was covered in the blood of the man he'd killed. His mouth parted. A whimper escaped.
Father was happy. He laughed and reached for them, intending to embrace them and praise them. Jason and Cass's eyes met.
Never again.
As one, they punched Cain—not Father, never Father again—in the chest, sending him flying into the wooden paneling.
The window was flung open, and the twins fled into the night, leaving their victims—the only victims they would ever have—behind.
Jason and Cass huddled in the hold of the ship. The wind roared outside, and it was cold. Jason's stomach growled. So did Cass's.
"Try," Jason said to Cass. "Try."
"Cuh, cuh, cuh," she whispered, stuttering on the constantan. Her vocal chords were unused to this. Jason smiled at her encouragingly, although it was hard to see it in the darkness of the hold.
Stowing away had seemed like a good idea at the time. The twins had hidden themselves in the shipping crates, eating food they stole from the crew. They did not know where the ship was going. They just hoped it would be far away enough to keep them away from Cain.
"Cuh, ah, ssss," she tried, drawing out the 'S' in a long hiss.
"Cass," he said quietly, nodding.
"Cuh-ass," she said, not stuttering this time. Jason grinned at her, nodding. She smiled back, proud.
Jason inspected the bandages on Cass's arm. The cut from Cain's sword (their last encounter with the man who had been their father had been brutal) was not infected, luckily. Jason's training had managed to prevent that.
Jason was angry. Cain might love them, but as Jason had known when he was younger, the love that bound together their small family was not enough. Cain's goals had ripped apart whatever had been built, severing himself from Jason and Cass.
Cain wanted them to kill again. Jason closed his eyes, hoping to stave off the memory of the stillness, but failed. Bile rose in his throat. Jason kept it down. There had not been enough food to waste nutrients like that.
He rubbed Cass's uninjured arm, trying to soothe the goose bumps that were rising. Jason wondered if the theft of blankets would go unnoticed. He doubted it. The sailors were already suspicious of the missing food and water bottles. He'd hear the word stowaways whispered. He didn't know what it meant, but he suspected it was what he and Cass were doing.
Outside, it started to storm.
The twins held each other close as they moved away from David Cain and his ambitions, closer to their destinies.
Years past. The twins grew.
Jason learned words, slowly, but he learned them. His speech was clumsy and awkward, halting and stumbling, but he had words. Cass learned too, but her vocabulary was still smaller. Jason had a gift for words that might have flourished if it was not for their training. Cass had never been as interested in language as he was, and it showed now, when they needed words.
They got by on odd-jobs and scrounging, bouncing from city to city. Jason learned how to ask directions, how to order food, and how to barter. More importantly, he learned how to babble. He learned how to make his mouth make meaningless sounds that sounded like words, so that they assumed he was foreign instead of stupid. The guesses to his nationality were varied and amusing. As were the attempts to rob them. Jason let Cass handle it. She got very good at only spraining fingers instead of breaking them.
The years passed like this. Jason grew taller and broader, gaining muscle. His hair was thick and shaggy, his eyes were dark blue. The shape of his eyes, his skin and his features gave away his race though. Cass looked almost completely Asian, although she had a rather Caucasian nose that she hated. It broke too easily in a fight.
Bludhaven was where they were. They didn't like it, although there was plenty of fighting to be found.
Jason laughed as he slammed his fist into a gang-banger's jaw. They were sloppy and weak, unused to fighting anybody even close to his or Cass's skill-level. If they didn't have each other, Jason wondered if they would get out of practice at fighting people as good as them.
Cass wasn't as amused as he was, brusquer as she quickly and efficiently took them down. He sighed and sobered up. Cass was right. They needed to get out of this town. Bludhaven made his skin itch. Jason didn't know why, but the town was trouble.
Suddenly, his head snapped up. Something caught his eye, something bright and reflective.
Jason's trained eyes scanned the rooftops. He saw the figure before Cass did. He saw the sniper scope, trained on Cass. He could see the path of the bullet in his mind.
Her forehead.
He lunged forward just as the shot went off. The bullet that was meant for his twin ripped through his shoulder, tearing muscles and skin. He gritted his teeth but did not cry out. A second shot rang out, this one going through Jason's stomach. Blood flowed.
"Jason!" Cass yelled. She looked for the sniper, promises of pain in her eyes. The man was already gone, faded into the Bludhaven night. She growled, and then turned her attention to Jason.
She started to try to stop the bleeding, her breath coming in short bursts. "Don't die, don't die, don't die," it was a prayer that came from her lips. She needed him. He was her twin, her ballast.
"Don't leave me," she pled. "Jason…."
His eyes did not seem to see her.
Sobbing, she looked around. There had to be a hospital nearby. Jason couldn't die.
She would not let him.
She must have been a sight, covered in her twin's blood and crying desperately. "My… my brother," she sobbed to the nurse. "Bad man…"
The nurse was nice. She hugged her and tried to sooth her. She said words that Cass did not understand. Cass knew some where questions. She tried to imitate Jason's babble, letting her voice rise and fall and speed up. Her thick throat choked her words, making her even more incomprehensible. She moved her hands, trying to gesture a man with a gun.
The nurse looked overwhelmed. She called out for translators, hoping to figure out what the poor girl was saying. None of them seemed to know. The girl's English was barely even rudimentary, stumbling and stuttering, with barely two-dozen words.
The woman tried to soothe the girl, but it did not seem to work. The girl's brother—twin?—was in critical. He'd lost a lot of blood, and the doctors had mentioned things to her. Scars, old wounds.
The girl was scarred too. Thin lines on her hands that looked like knife wounds, what looked like a bullet scar near her collar bone, where her tank top had slipped… they were fighters.
The nurse tried to ask about insurance, about parents, about emergency contacts. The girl managed to communicate that their parents were dead. They lived on their own.
"Money," she told the girl. "Can you pay for your brother's treatment?"
Understanding lit up the girl's eyes, and she pulled out a small wad of cash from her shoulder-bag. It was over a hundred dollars, but it would be nowhere near enough for the kind of intensive care that the boy would need.
The nurse's shoulders slumped. Bludhaven South General Hospital was always overcrowded and full of injured people. Not many were as young as the two siblings—they looked to be fifteen or so—but all in need. Most could pay a certain amount, could be billed. These twins almost definitively had no address, no steady jobs. The hospital would be at a loss, and the loss would have to be passed onto others. She made a note that the boy should be released as soon as he was out of critical. They couldn't afford it.
Cass found them a place to hole-up in while they waited for Jason to recover. Cass looked after him. The bullets had taken a toll, and to make matters worse, the hospital had put Jason's broken leg—it had been broken for three weeks, it wasn't that big of a deal—in a cast. Cass searched for a way to remove it, as well as scavenge for money to buy Jason the drugs he needed. Jason had never been hurt that bad before, at least not since they had run away. They did not like staying in one place for so long, but they didn't have much of a choice. Jason could barely move.
She got on a train, headed to Gotham. She'd heard there was money to be found in Gotham.
The train ride to Gotham was surprisingly empty. She didn't understand.
(What Cassandra did not understand was simple. Gotham had recently been ravaged by a 7.8 earthquake. Congress had just voted the day before to seal off the island, and everyone who remained on it by 8 PM EST, from the rest of the country. Gotham was to become a no man's land.
Cassandra did not understand this. She would not understand it until that night, when she discovered that the trains no longer ran, and she could not get out of Gotham. She could not get back to Jason. She was trapped.)
Jason did not understand either. All he knew was that Cass never came back to the abandoned building. After three days, he managed to break the cast, and went searching for her.
Jason's life fell into routine. He managed to find himself a job, running errands for a small diner in the worst part of Bludhaven. The diner was owned by a kind woman named Annie, who fed Jason and let him sleep in the back room. After he fought off a few would-be-burglars, she became very fond of him, and bought him new clothes.
He ran errands for her all morning. In the afternoon, he searched for Cass. He checked hospitals, morgues, and all the buildings were Cass might be able to hide.
He couldn't find her, and he wondered if she'd left him. If she'd run away, leaving him because she didn't need him. She never really had.
He pushed aside those thoughts and kept looking.
He'd find her.
He had to.
Cass didn't like Gotham. Or "No Man's Land", as people called it. People fought for food, people fought for matches. They fought, they killed, they betrayed.
The people were hungry, the people were angry, the people were scared. It was overwhelming. She hid in the empty tower, hoping to escape the emotions and crowds. (Too many people, where was Jason. She needed Jason.)
The tower was dark, but dry. She curled up on her side, her knees tucked under her chin.
There was blissful silence. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine that Jason was curled up next to her. She tried to pretend that he was there, with his faint snoring and heavy breathing. She wanted his gigantic mass next to her to help her. She did not like having to speak for herself. She was bad at it.
She tried to imagine where he was. He would be on his own. Her stomach stirred nervously at the idea of him not having anyone to watch his back. At having no one to stop him when he tried to do stupid things.
She wanted to scream. He needed her. And she needed him. She didn't know what to do.
"Who's there?" Cass froze guiltily in the corner she'd tucked herself into. Apparently this place was not as abandoned as she thought. She eyed the window, wondering if she'd be able to make it out without be seen.
Cass slowly uncurled herself.
"I know you're in here!" The voice was female, a steely metzo. Cass slipped behind a jumble of electronics, blending in with the shadows.
She caught a glimpse of the woman. She was short, very short, with muscular arms that were used to fighting and a firm stance. Her hair was orangey-red, her eyes gleaming green behind glasses. They scanned the room efficiently and expertly, but the woman did not spot the small girl hiding behind the wires and computer screens. Cass used her short stature and lithe figure to her advantage. Cass barely scraped five-feet, and was skinny despite her muscular frame. The dark, tattered clothes she wore helped her blend in.
The short woman wielded a flashlight, shining it around the room. Cass slunk down onto her haunches to avoid the beam. The woman was protective. She did not want company. Cass's heart sank. She had hoped to be able to hide here for a while; at least long enough to sleep and patch up the cuts she'd gotten when she'd been stuck in the collapsing building.
Gotham was falling apart at the seams. People's scavenging already was destroying the few buildings that were still standing. Cass had nearly been trapped in one such building when she went to investigate the sound of children crying. She'd managed to get them out, although falling rubble had managed to damage her shoulder.
She slid sideways slowly, making her way to the hallway. If she could get out of the room, she'd be able to find another window and escape from there. She'd find another place to sleep. Maybe one of the crowded places.
The woman did not notice Cass moving on silent feet into the hallway.
Cass didn't think to look up as she slipped out the door.
The net fell, tangling Cass up. It had been coated in a sticky substance that stuck to Cass as she struggled, sending her crashing to the floor with a loud crash.
Cass tried to pull it off and run away, but it was too late. The red-haired woman approached. Cass blinked. She saw wheels.
She tried to angle her head up. She saw now that the woman was not short, but sitting down in a chair that rolled. The woman looked pleased with herself, tucking escirma sticks into holsters hidden in the arms of the chair. "Caught you," she said, satisfied.
Cass managed to get an arm loose enough to wave. "Hi?" She tried.
Babs stared at the girl in the net in front of her. "Who are you?" She asked. The girl couldn't be older than sixteen.
"Cass," the girl said. Her voice was small, and disused from the sound of it. Babs frowned.
"Where's your family?"
"G-g-one," the girl said slowly.
Babs felt her brow furrow. English was clearly not the girl's first language. "Where are you from?"
The girl looked at her helplessly.
Babs sighed and tried the question again in Mandarin. The girl looked at her blankly. Babs tried it in every language she knew. The girl didn't respond to any of them. English seemed to be the language she was best at. It was bizarre, but Babs accepted it.
The girl was good. She'd managed to get into the Clocktower, managed to evade Babs's sight until she'd triggered the net.
There wasn't malice in the girl. Just fear.
"You hungry?" She asked.
The girl lit up.
Babs didn't have a lot of food, but she had a fair bit. Being chair bound and all, she tended to stock up on food. Dad and Dick could only swing by with groceries so often, and she didn't like the looks grocery delivery guys gave her.
Most of the food had even been meant for long term storage, so she was doing much better than most. In terms of No Man's Land, she was richer than Bruce. (Babs cursed him for not being here. He was needed.) It was useful for paying her informants back.
The girl was starving. She ate eagerly, but was polite enough not to keep grabbing. The girl knew hunger.
Babs sighed, and gave the girl another can of tinned peaches. Cass beamed. Something about it was familiar, and it made her ache.
And then there was the way she looked at Babs. There was no pity there. Nothing of the sort. Cass treated Babs… well, like people treated her before the Joker. There was nothing but respect from Cass. Well, and smiles.
"You can stay here, if you want," Babs offered. The girl tilted her head. "If you'll run errands for me, you can stay."
The girl lit up again, seeming to get Babs's meaning. "Help you?"
Babs nodded. The girl grinned, and hugged her tightly. "Thank you!"
The big man who wore a bat symbol on his chest came in while Cass was sleeping. Babs was angry at him, but she didn't want him gone. Oh, he was late. Very late.
Cass remembered now. His voice had come out of the transmitter a few nights back. Babs had been angry.
He had "hung up" on her, apparently. Cass, who had been delivering supplies to a church, wasn't quite sure what that meant.
Cass sat on top of the tallest bookshelf and watched. She watched them bicker and yell. She watched Babs slam her fist on her desk. The man was very late. And he'd failed to do something on top of that. Cass wondered why he felt the need to wear a head-covering. Maybe he was like some of Cass's trainers. They too wore masks.
Finally, the man left, leaving an upset Babs in his wake. Cass moved down from her hiding place and wrapped her arms around Babs. "Okay?" She asked.
Babs nodded. She took a breath. "Yes. I'm fine." She leaned over and picked up a sheet of paper. "I need you to find Huntress—you remember her?" Cass nodded. The lady with a crossbow who wore purple sometimes and the Bat others. "Give her this. And if she's still wearing the Batgirl costume kick her in the shins!"
"Not Bat-girl," Cass said. "The Bat."
Babs rolled her eyes. "Not much of a difference."
Cass tilted her head. Babs sighed. "It's nothing Cass. Just… deliver it."
Cass tapped her head in salute and then exited out the window.
When she returned, apparently Babs had found her father. "Cass!" Babs exclaimed, looking up from hugging a tall, mustached man in a trench coat. "Dad, this is Cass. She runs errands for me."
Barbara's father was used to fighting, more with weapons than fists, but he could still fight if he needs to. Love radiated from him as he looked at Babs. He was suspicious of Cass. She didn't blame him. She knew that she was not a very trustworthy person.
She waved and smiled. "Hello!" An unwilling smile appeared on the man's face.
"Hello yourself," he shook her hand. "You been looking after my girl?"
She tilted her head. "She look after me," she said, confused. Babs didn't need to be looked after. She was Babs.
Babs laughed. "Cass doesn't speak much English, Dad."
Cass didn't get what that had to do with that statement. She shrugged and went to bed.
Cass tapped Babs on the shoulder. Babs turned around, grinning. "How's my best messenger?" Cass grinned and offered Babs an apple.
"How did you… Where…?" She shook her head, grinning. "Apple for teacher, huh? Sit down." Babs pulled the flashcards out of her desk.
STOP was written on the flash card. Cass squinted, trying to remember the alphabet. Even Jason couldn't read.
"Ssdaaa… sdaaa…" Cass tried. "Sss…ttaa…"
"That's it," Babs encouraged, smiling at her. "You can do it."
Cass bit her lip and tried again. "Sdaaa…"
But before she could finish, the door was pushed open and Commissioner Gordon stepped into the room. "Barbara, I need you."
Babs handed Cass the flashcards, smiling encouragingly. "That was very good. I mean it. Tomorrow, okay?"
Cass left the room, watching Babs check her father for injuries.
Cass shoved down a wash of loneliness. Jason… Cain…
She ignored it and left the building. Out of habit, she scanned the rooftops. She wondered if Jason was okay. She hoped he was.
Her eyes widened as she saw a familiar figure on the roof. With a gun.
Cass tore around the building. No. No. No. No. No.
Her feet pounded cracked pavement. Her eyes were wide, her breathing was heavy. Not again. Never again.
James Gordon was the target. She slid in front of him, spreading out her arms. She waited for the shot to go off. She blinked when it didn't.
The men around Gordon started blowing whistles and firing weapons. She didn't blink. She didn't flinch. Cain wouldn't be hurt. He wouldn't be hit.
Cass pulled Gordon back inside. It would be safe there.
"Who was that?" Babs demanded. "Did you know him?"
Cass nodded shortly. She made a grabby motion with her hand. Babs quickly passed her a piece of paper and pencil.
Cass was out of practice with drawing. She and Jason had stolen paper and pencils or charcoal whenever they could, but usually food was more urgent. She could still manage to draw Cain's symbol though.
"Cain." They spoke at length about him. Cass didn't care. There was another sheet of paper. She tucked it and the pencil into her jacket. She would give them back to Babs later.
"Why didn't he shoot you?" Gordon asked her. "He shoots girls."
Guiltily, she pointed to Gordon, then to Babs. Then from the symbol to herself.
"He's your father?"
Detective Montoya said something, but Cass wasn't listening. Cain was there.
They got to their feet to prepare to leave. Cass lunged forward, snatching the keys and locking them in the room where they'd been asking her questions.
No more deaths.
Gunshots went off. None of them hit. Cass would have been surprised if they had.
She leapt forward, snatching the gun out of his hand with an ease that came from years of practice. She followed it up with a right uppercut, slamming him back.
There was blood on her hand. Her stomach recoiled instinctively. Automatically, her left hand sought Jason's but he wasn't there. Tears started to spill out, pouring onto her cheek.
"STOP!" She screamed.
Cain looked up. "What did you… did you just…?" His eyes filled with tears. "You can speak?"
Slowly, he got to his feet and moved towards her. He cupped her face gently, his fingers in her hair. She looked up at him. She hated him for what he'd done to her and Jason, hated him for the nightmares of killing…
But she had missed him. She let his hand stay where it was. "Can you… understand me?" He asked, voice gentler than she had ever heard it.
She wasn't sure what she was going to do.
She didn't have to make the choice. The door was broken down. Cain switched in an instant, from caring to killing. She knew what she had to do. She tackled him, sending both of them flying out the window.
"Stop," she whispered again, tears trickling down her cheeks.
He laughed. "I taught you too well." There was a pause as they kept falling. "Where's your brother?"
Cass didn't answer. She was sure he saw the answer in her eyes.
"Come back with me," Cain said, holding out his arms to her. "Jason's gone, Cass. I'm all you have left now."
Cass almost did.
But she remembered blood and death, Babs and kindness.
She turned away.
Cass got used to other people being around. There was Nightwing, who wore blue and black and had funny hair and pretty eyes. There was Robin, who was so colorful that it was enchanting and smiled a lot. There was Batman, who was big and wanted to scare her and was confused when he didn't. There was Azrael, who was only sometimes himself, and sometimes a nice man named Jean Paul who would go with her to the hospital and help Doctor Leslie. Doctor Leslie was sweet and nice and didn't believe in violence. It was confusing to Cass.
Helena stopped wearing the Bat. She complained about it, but part of her was grateful too. Because it meant that she was no longer trying to fill the shoes of Batman.
Cass buried herself in them. She hoped the aching would go away, that she would no longer feel like there is an empty spot where Jason should be, watching her back.
But there was.
Babs gave Cass a costume one day. "Batgirl," Cass said, fingering the symbol.
"Yes," Babs said, smiling. "It's yours now. Make me proud."
Cass threw herself at Babs. "I promise," she whispered.
Jason stared at the screen.
The city was in shambles, even he could tell that. It was crumbled and broken.
And in the middle of it all was Cass.
Oh, she was wearing a mask and a cape, but he'd be able to tell it was her no matter what. Her body language was so distinct. She was fighting, but it was almost laughable the ease she was picking them off.
He was staring. "What's the matter Jason?" Annie nudged him. "Never seen a Bat before?"
"Bat?" Jason asked, watching. She was healthy, she was well, she was happy, he could tell from the way she moved. That last part bit. He'd been miserable, looking for her, and there she was happy. Did she really need him? Had she ever?
He froze his face. It didn't matter. He needed to find her.
"That's Batgirl, innit?" Annie said. "Y'know, from Gotham."
"Gotham," it was a prayer as it passed his lips.
He'd find her. He had a name, he had a place.
His heart beat out the rhythm. Goth-am. Goth-am. Goth-am.
He'd find her.
She might be able to live without him, but he needed her.
He curled in on himself the minute he'd shrugged off Annie. He was pathetic. But he needed Cass. He kept turning to her to tell her something, in the language that only they spoke, but no one was there. No one understood how to speak through small movements or to make him laugh by twitching a finger. The words, words he'd longed for all his life, were heavy and lifeless on his tongue. He'd give back all of them, even his own name, to have his sister back by his side.
Goth-am. Goth-am. Goth-am.
Jason tore through the barricades to get into Gotham. It had been walled off by guards and water and collapsed bridges, but none of that could stop him. His sister was in there.
One guard managed to shoot him, but he kept running. He might not have Cass's speed, but he had an even higher pain threshold than her.
The city seemed to draw him in. He imagined it as a woman, smiling at him with cruelty in her eyes. She seemed to welcome him. At last, he thought he could hear her say. At last you have come to me. And now you are mine.
Jason shook off the feeling. The city was broken and dirty but it was the people who were still alive, not the city itself. Cities weren't alive. Cities didn't claim people, didn't collect them and prize them. He was imagining the way the city seemed to cling to him, like a child who finally had found a longed-for toy.
He ran through streets, searching for the vaunted Bat symbol that Cass had worn. He hid in shadows, listening for the word.
"Batman," whispered a fully grown man, trembling with fear.
"The Bat!" Snarled a woman carrying a gun. "He stole the ammo!"
Finally he arrived in a neighborhood marked with the symbol. He traced it, wonderingly. Was she close? Had he found her?
He closed his eyes and listened for the flutter of a cape or footsteps, soft and deadly.
He heard nothing.
His shoulders slumped. She wasn't here.
He traced the stylized bat with loving fingers. It wasn't her work, but it was her symbol. She was close.
And he would find her.
A thing that most people don't understand is that belief is a powerful thing.
Belief and words shape people, shape animals, and eventually, even things like cities.
People tend to speak about cities as if they can think. They describe them as people, give them personalities.
There's a magic in belief.
Eventually, belief becomes reality.
Not all cities are alive, not like Gotham. Just some.
Gotham is dirty, she is corrupt. She is a lady of glass and steel and crumbling bricks and cardboard boxes. She is beautiful and glamorous, but she is dangerous and cruel. She's alluring, her charm deceptive. She is the best and worst of her villains and her heroes. She is as seductive as Ivy, as dichotic as Dent, as unpredictable as the Joker. But she is as proud as Batman, as enduring as Robin, as kind as Nightwing, as intelligent as Oracle. She is as greedy as the elite of her city, clinging at what she loves with the urgency of a toddler.
And what she loves are her children. What she wants is them to be with her forever, to remain with her for all their days. She wants their lives, their loves, their deaths. She wants to haunt their dreams and to always be their home.
Not any ordinary citizen can be a true child of Gotham. To be her child, one must have paid. Bruce Wayne paid when he was a child in an alley. Dick Grayson paid one night at a circus. Stephanie Brown pays every day in her sweat and tears and struggles. Tim Drake has not yet paid, but she has already selected the payment, and she has laid a claim. Her precious children. She clings to them and does not let go. They are hers. They will always be hers. No matter how far, how hard they run from her, she will always call them back to her. She is ruthless. She does not care who gets harmed, as long as her children are with her.
So when Cassandra Cain came to her (at last), Gotham had no compunction of trapping her with earthquakes and barricades. The girl was hers.
And soon, Jason would be too.
He already was there. But his soul, although claimed, was not hers quite yet.
Gotham is patient. She will take his soul, his love, his loyalty, and one day, his death.
So she slowly encircles Jason in herself, whispering promises in his ear and luring him further in. He doesn't listen yet, but he will soon enough.
She can wait.
Once Babs realized how much Cass loved to draw, she dug out a whole pile of old sketchbooks and pencil stubs and let the new Batgirl go crazy.
And Cass did. She drew whenever she wasn't on patrol or eating. Her fingers became stained with graphite. Eraser shavings tangled in her hair.
She drew cityscapes of Gotham, sprawling and big and falling apart. Collapsed skyscrapers, piles of rubble, crowds of people huddled together. She drew the hospital, she drew the churches, and she drew the children she saved. Babs taught her to sign her name in the corner in a barely-legible scrawl.
She drew people as well. She drew Bruce, all hard lines and shadows, his cape spread wide. In the shade of it, Gotham was visible. Dick was present in her drawings as well, motion personified even on paper, smiling and laughing, usually captured in the middle of an acrobatic movement. Tim, color and earnest, flying through the streets, his cape fluttering out behind him. Leslie was there, kind and caring, mouth twisted up in a rueful smile. Jean Paul was there, smiling awkwardly or fighting as Azrael. Alfred was there, frowning in concern as he stitched up wounds. Helena, hard and cold, with barriers and regrets, was captured in action of defending people. Babs was there too, her face lit by the graphite computers, her face drawn worried.
"Why am I worried?" Babs asked, looking over Cass's shoulder. Cass kept working, carefully smearing the graphite with the tip of her finger.
"Everybody's outside," Cass said. "You worry when chicks are out of nest."
Babs didn't have an answer for that.
Cass's drawings were scattered throughout the Clocktower—although she knew some decorated the hospital and the Batcave that Alfred stayed at.
But there was someone else who appeared in her drawings. A boy, Cass's age. He had wary eyes and a laughing smile. He wore a baggy red sweater and torn jeans and usually was punching someone or laughing. Sometimes it was both. His hair was dark and shaggy, with the barest hint of a curl, his eyes were blue. (Cass scavenged colored pencils on occasion.)
"Who is he?" Babs asked when Cass drew him fighting side-by-side with Azrael. The boy was caught mid kick, a reckless grin on his face, the hood pulled up, throwing his features into shadow.
"Jason," Cass said, working on Jean Paul's mask.
"He a friend?" Babs asked, wondering if she'd have to tell Bruce to keep an eye on Cass.
"Brother." Cass said, shaking her head. Her lips drew into a line as she drew Azrael's cape.
"You have a brother?" Babs asked, shocked.
"Lost him," Cass aid quietly. "Find soon."
Babs turned away, lost in thought. She missed Cass adding a Bat symbol to Jason's hoodie.
Jason wandered around Gotham. The city was broken. People were hungry, scared, and angry. There was never enough food, never enough water. Jason was good at scavenging; he made do. He shared what he found, but he was only one boy. He didn't make enough of a difference.
He met a woman with dark hair who wore purple. She beat up a few men with spiked sticks and clubs, who had been threatening a group of kids that had made themselves a home in an abandoned apartment building. Jason had been helping them fix their roof.
She growled and snarled at them, trying to get them to come to a place she thought was safer. The kids refused. They had managed to plant some seeds and had a small stash of food. They would make do for themselves.
Jason liked her. "Bat?" He asked her, curiously. Annie hadn't told him much, but he was pretty sure she was a hero. And weren't the Bats the heroes of Gotham?
The purple woman laughed bitterly. Oh, apparently not. "Nah. Not me. The Bats don't waste their time on failures."
Jason frowned. "You fight good," he said, confused.
"Sure I'm good, kid, but I can't do miracles. Miracles are what Batman asked for, and I couldn't deliver." Shame. Guilt. Failure. Jason patted her arm, unsure of what else to do.
Huntress left in a swirl of cape and hair, and Jason kept going.
He walked through the city, looking for the symbol. He fought sometimes too, like Huntress. He fought bullies and thugs, villains and thieves. He helped a little boy find his father and an old woman hoe her small garden patch.
He wandered, watching the alley walls and listening. The beat of his heart had changed. Bat-Man, Bat-Man, Bat-Man.
He found a hospital, run by a kind woman named Doctor Leslie. He helped out there for a few days, and met a big man named Jean Paul. Jean Paul wore a cape and carried a mask, although he didn't like wearing it.
"Bat?" Jason asked again, curiously.
The man smiled wanly. "No. But I do know him. Why?"
"My sister," Jason said with a shrug, moving the box of bandages. "Batman knows where she is?"
"Why?" Jean Paul asked.
"She wears it," he said. "The mark. She fights for him."
Jean Paul nearly dropped the crate he was carrying. "Cass?"
"Yes!" Jason exclaimed. "You know? You know her?"
"She's my partner!"
Jason tilted his head, confused.
Jean Paul groaned. "I suppose that explains why you talk like that. You talk better than her."
Jason shrugged. "Like it better. Take me to her?"
"Once we're done with this," the blonde said, gesturing to the boxes and crates they were stalking. Jason nodded, and sped up.
Dick fought besides Bruce and Cass. He grinned as he watched Batgirl fight. It was fun to watch her.
Cass twisted, slamming her heel into one man's solar plexus and then flipped backwards, her fist colliding with another's jaw. She landed and spun, ripping the gun out of the man's hands and then slamming the butt of it against his temple. The gun then was unloaded, the bullet bouncing on the concrete, and the gun went sailing, beaming another mook in the head.
Fighting was a dance, and Cass was a Prima Ballerina of this company.
Dick cheerful whistled to himself as he smacked a generic henchperson with an escirma stick.
He didn't see the sniper until the shot went off.
Dick twisted, trying to move himself out of the path of the bullet, but he could already tell that it wouldn't work. He winced and prepared himself for the impact.
A blur of red collided with him, pushing him out of the way. Nightwing and his savior went skidding across cracked pavement, knocking over Two-Face's goons like they were bowling pins in the process.
"Watch the roofs," a dark haired boy in a red sweatshirt admonished him.
Dick's attention was drawn to the boy's leg, where he was bleeding. "You've been shot!"
The boy gave him a 'you're an idiot'look. "Yes."
"Jason!" Cass yelled, suddenly tackling Nightwing's savior.
"Cass!" The two were hugging.
"Alive!" Cass said, as if she couldn't believe it.
"Stupid," Jason said, poking her nose. "You alive."
Cass made a sputtering noise of amusement. "Stupid!"
Jason poked her in the stomach. Cass let out a giggle. She tackled him again, somehow avoiding hurting his leg with a bullet in it. She started to tickle him. Jason let out a few giggles of his own, before turning the tables and pinning her to the ground. "I win."
Cass giggled. "You wish!" She stuck her knee into his stomach. Jason pulled her hair. She elbowed him. He pinched her.
Dick couldn't help but stare as two master assassins started to fight like kindergarteners in the middle of the street.
"Shouldn't… shouldn't we stop them?"
Bruce frowned. But then, he was always frowning. Dick wasn't sure if this was a "Who is this person and why is one of my babies trusting them without my permission" frown or a "someone is bleeding" frown. Dick was pretty good at reading Bruce's many scowls (he's even made a photo-guide for Tim, with input from Babs and Alfred) but those two are always hard to distinguish between, and he was at a bad angle.
The two assassin kids separated on their own, grinning like maniacs. "Out of practice," sniffed Cass.
"No you," Jason said, showing that the playground rhetoric somehow had managed to infiltrate his speech patterns. (Later, Dick would learn that Jason did, in fact, spend time with little kids to help grow his vocabulary, which would explain a lot.)
Cass grinned. She moved towards Dick and Batman, holding her brother's hand. Dick had a better look at him. He was taller than Cass, broader too. His hands were scarred, similar to Cass's. He acted like he hadn't been shot at all, which was mildly worrying. Dick eyed the concrete, which already had a blood trail. They probably should do something about that.
"Jason," Cass said. She turned to Bruce, eyes wide and pleading. She wanted to go well. "This family."
Jason smiled awkwardly. "Hi."
Dick grinned. "Nice to meet you Jason."
It felt like a beginning.